When the Lone Wolf Dies
by lannerz
Summary: Daryl Dixon has always considered himself a lone wolf, but maybe, just maybe, he's going to have to start re-evaluating that outlook and think about actually being part of a pack. Each chapter will reflect on Daryl's relationship with each member of the group.
1. Prologue: Compare and Contrast

Notes: So, I know, it's a bit weird to be writing something other than ASOIAF fanfiction, but The Walking Dead really took a hold of me and I absolutely love Daryl. I had to do something to cope with having to wait until October for season 3. Each chapter will focus on Daryl's relationship with someone from the group. Not all will be pleasant. This will span over the course of season 1 and 2, so there will be spoilers.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead. If I did, Daryl would be the main character and Lori would probably be dead. Oops, did I say that?

**When the Lone Wolf Dies  
**_prologue: compare and contrast_

Daryl will always remember the way his brother's eyes raked over each person in this not-so-merry band of idiots that had somehow managed to survive the beginning of the apocalypse despite all odds being against them. Merle was trying to determine who the weak ones in the group were, because you are only as strong as your weakest link, or some shit like that. Daryl himself had never been one for groups, but being alone wasn't an option in this new day and age. You needed a group to survive; and as tough as the Dixon brothers were, it would take more than just two people to survive this shit hole. He'd begrudgingly followed his brother's lead and now they were part of a group.

And hell, did Daryl hate fucking groups.

"I don't know how most of these people are still alive," Merle said one night while Daryl was fixing up his tent. They were camped some way's off the highway, because being anywhere near a highway was a lot like asking to be eaten alive. When they'd decided to pitch their tents, Daryl had chosen to stick his as far as he could away from everyone else without being in a whole new camp or stupid. Merle's tent was in between his and the rest of the group's, effectively creating a nice barrier between Daryl and stupidity personified.

Daryl sat down on a log next to his tent. "Lucky, I guess."

"Luck is only gonna get you so far, baby brother; you best know that."

All Daryl could do was shrug his shoulders in response. They may have been some tough sons of bitches and killed more walkers than any of these folks combined so far, but they had had their lucky moments as well. If Daryl didn't know what he knew, if he hadn't been taught how to hunt and kill, then they might've starved a while ago, seeing as how Merle was shit at packing end of the world supplies. They hadn't even been in the same city when all this shit had started; and yet somehow, they'd managed to find each other. Merle was the only person in the world that Daryl gave a shit about; and he was more than certain that Merle was the only person that gave a shit about him in return. It wasn't like he'd had a lot to lose, but he'd come to a startling realization that maybe his big brother was all he had to lose besides his own life.

Merle picked up a stick and shoved some of the embers of their fire around, his eyes trained on the other people in the camp. They'd been with these people a few days. It was only thanks to Merle that they'd been allowed into this group. He'd somehow charmed their way in, although Daryl knew that Merle's charm could only go and last for so long before he snapped. There had already been a few small instances, but either Daryl would indirectly intercept or Merle would somehow manage to keep his cool. _All he's gotta do is stay outta his stash…_ But who knew how long it would last before Merle got an itch.

"The cop, he's probably half the reason these dumbasses are alive," Merle said, flicking the stick momentarily in the other man's directions. Daryl followed the line of sight and spotted Shane Walsh prowling through the camp. Merle was probably right. Although he didn't particularly like Shane (or anyone really), the other man was quick on his feet and brutal and calculated when it came to walkers. He knew how to dispose of them quickly and handled a gun well. Still, he had an edgy look about him as he looked around the camp, making it look like he was close to snapping, before his body visibly relaxed as he walked up to a woman named Lori Grimes and her son Carl. At first glance, Daryl had thought them a family, until the young boy had muttered something about his father, a sheriff, being dead.

Not that they weren't really a family. Daryl had accidentally come across Shane and Lori fucking in the woods while he'd been on one of his hunts. It would've been awkward had he not been able to discreetly leave the scene before being discovered. They hadn't even heard him coming. _Idiots would've been caught dead with their pants 'round their ankles if it'd been a fucking walker._ Then again, he was good at being quiet in the woods. He'd learned how to soften his steps at an early age. Shit came in handy when you needed to get around walkers without drawing attention, even though Merle usually jumped out and killed them anyways, laughing and hollering like always.

"If that kid doesn't get eaten up soon though, I'll be fucking damned," Merle chuckled.

Carl did seem to wander around a lot; and though his mother tried her best to keep an eye on him, well, there were clearly times when both she and Shane, his new dad, were too preoccupied to notice him. That was what happened when people got that whole, _"I just want to feel alive again,"_ shit stuck playing in their heads, as if they were the only ones left on the planet and had nothing left to live for. God, shit like that made him sick.

"What's the old man's name?" Merle asked, pointing at the RV.

"Dale," Daryl answered. He'd kept track of everyone's names while Merle just gave them an assortment of crude nicknames. He rarely ever used their names when talking to people, so Daryl sometimes had to remind him who was who when they were talking.

"Guy is old as shit, but he's a resourceful motherfucker, I'll give 'im that." Merle gave the RV a careful look over. Upon first glance, he'd wanted to try to take the RV away from Dale, but when they'd found out that he was just the tip of a larger group, Merle had decided against it. Not that Daryl would've gone along with the plan. It hadn't been exactly the brightest one and Merle had been kind of fucked up at the time. Merle was his brother, but he made some stupid ass decisions when he was high. "RV's closest thing to a tank that people can get these days, but no doubt he's gonna bite it. I bet he can't run for shit."

Daryl didn't want to say that he kind of liked Dale. Because he didn't. But the old man was nice. He was too trusting though. He was the one person in the group that had welcomed Daryl and Merle with open arms. Daryl was smart enough to know that people like him and Merle were both good and bad people to have around. They knew how to hunt and track, but Daryl knew for a fact that he wasn't the warmest of people to be around. He made a habit of staying away from people and Merle knew how to make people hate him quicker than sand. Shane had been iffy about them, had even tried to get them to move along at first, but Dale had insisted they stay. Something about leaving people out to fend on their own wasn't humane.

Maybe no one had told that old man the world wasn't exactly a _humane_ place anymore.

"That one guy brought enough MREs t' feed 'is family for weeks. I bet we could get our hands on some. Not like he's up t' sharin' shit. Man's funny as fuck, but he's a stupid bastard through and through."

Daryl's eyes flickered to the family in question: Ed, Carol, and Sophia. Out of all the people in this camp, Merle got along with Ed the best. They'd play poker together with Dale's pack of cards. If there'd been booze here, no doubt they would've been the ones to drink it. (Well, there was booze, but Merle wasn't the sharing type either.) To be honest, Daryl thought the two men were more alike than either one of them would admit. They were also the first two to grow volatile should any arguments arise, though Shane suppressed any quickly enough with his equally high temper. Merle may have gotten along with Ed, but that wouldn't stop Merle from turning on him if it meant surviving or getting a few MREs.

None of that mattered to Daryl. After two nights of sleeping too close to the family's tent, he wanted the fucker dead. It didn't take a fucking genius to see the way he treated his wife. _Merle should know fuckin' better._ It wasn't rocket science to figure out that Ed was an abusive asshole and had only gotten worse with the strain of the apocalypse bearing down on him. There had been one occasion when Daryl had woken up to the familiar sound of a smack, flesh on flesh; and he'd sat frozen in his tent, tense as coil, and it had taken every ounce of energy to not grab a large stick and beat Ed over the head with it. He'd lost his temper only once in camp so far, but it had been large enough for Shane to threaten his place here. He wasn't going to get them kicked out over a piece of shit like Ed, but it fucking stung nonetheless. He'd felt like a stupid kid again, not a grown ass man.

And Daryl wasn't even going to open the can of worms that was Ed's relationship with his daughter Sophia. That was enough to make him see red; and the last time he'd truly lost his temper had resulted in him beating the shit out of four walkers with nothing but a crowbar. _Shit._

"It's gonna be real funny when the walkers get ahold of them Negros," Merle pointed out, a dark grin on his face. "Walkers don't care much about civil rights and shit, that's for sure."

Merle was right about that last part at least. Walkers certainly discriminate when it came against who they wanted to chomp on: they tore up gays, straights, whites, blacks, Asians, and everyone alike. They didn't care about little old ladies or rich assholes. All they cared about was the blood pumping through the veins of anything living. Daryl had even seen a walker chewing on some rich girl's poodle. Nothing mattered to them. Everyone and everything was an equal opportunity to munch. Everyone that had looked down at him for being a hick was on his level now in walkers' eyes, though Daryl knew that he was one step ahead of most people. He knew how to survive with jack shit. These people here were scraping by with what they'd taken from their old lives. Daryl knew that a time would come when all the stuff he'd packed would mean nothing and would be gone; and all he'd have was himself.

And Merle, he'd have his brother too.

Still, Daryl had yet to see what T-Dog and Jacqui could contribute to the group. Jacqui was nice enough and, if Daryl could bring himself to admit it, she was smart. He saw the way she paid attention to how the group worked. She didn't stick her nose into anyone's business, unlike other people; and he liked that. She was smart enough to know that Daryl didn't want to be bothered and left him be, but she had been the first one to talk to him about starting to hunt for food. Everyone else had just thought he was weird and messed up in the head. She may have been a city slicker at one point, but the girl knew something, black skin or not. T-Dog was always up for checking the perimeter for walkers and he did heavy lifting when required of him, but he didn't do much else. People seemed to like him though. He was cheerful when need be, which in Daryl's opinion was never, but no one asked him.

"Did you see that Asian kid runnin' away from those geeks we ran across the other day?" Merle chuckled and shook his head. "Never seen someone run so fast. I thought he was gonna piss his pants." He laughed some more and then shook his head. When Daryl looked up, he saw Glenn sitting on top of the RV, looking around. He was playing with the hat that he wore all the time, wringing it and then flopping it back on his head. He'd grab Shane's binoculars, look around, and then fiddle with his hat again. "The only thing that shit head's got goin' for 'im is that he's quick as shit. He'll outrun everyone and let them get eatin'."

Well, about that, Daryl wasn't so sure. Glenn was quick on his feet – that much was for sure, the way he was able to scavenge faster than any of them – but he was smart too. It wasn't that Asian smart either. He just was. Merle was right in saying that the kid looked fit to piss himself though. He didn't have any confidence or bravery; Daryl could see the fear in his eyes and he knew that was likely to get him in trouble. Sure, he was brave and he did a lot of things that most people wouldn't, putting himself on the line of the geek's buffet for people he barely knew, but that was completely different from the type of person he was at camp. If Daryl so much as looked at him sideways, the boy ran the other way. He stammered when trying to talk to Shane or Merle. One time, he'd tried to tell Ed to _maybe, if he could, please, not to yell so much at Carol_, and Ed had barked at him so loud that Glenn had taken off and not showed up for the rest of the day.

Daryl didn't know how Glenn could be so ballsy when it came to walkers but nearly wet himself when it came to people. It was like he was more afraid of getting chewed out than being chewed on.

"That Mexican and his family are gonna die soon; I can feel it," Merle said, nodding over to Morales and his wife, daughter, and son. He was a loving father and husband, the perfect man back when society had meant something. Apparently he was from Atlanta and knew about the city, hence why he was the one that was going to lead the scavenging mission there in a week's time. He didn't look like much, probably just some family man with a city job, but the apocalypse can make softer men into something hard. There was no telling what it did to harder men – turned them something fierce and feral.

Daryl couldn't help but feel lucky that he didn't have anyone to really care for. He would always have Merle's back, but in the end, Merle could take care of himself. People that had a wife or husband had the pro of having someone they loved to keep them in good spirits, but it made people stupid. People did stupid things when they were in love. Daryl didn't have anyone that could make him stupid. And if you had a kid to look after, you did double the stupid. No doubt people put themselves in greater risk to save their children. They would probably give up their lives, just hoping that it might save their child. God, that was stupid. Self-preservation didn't mean a damn thing when children were involved, even though it should've been the first thing a parent worried about. Like when a plane is going down and people are instructed to put their oxygen masks before helping their child with theirs, people should watch out for themselves so they'd be alive to take care of their children as well.

But people were fucking stupid, especially at the end of the world. He'd seen a man gunned down for a TV when the looting happened. A fucking TV, when there was no electricity! What an idiot. The guy with the TV had had his arm ripped off just ten minutes later because he'd been too busy carrying the TV around to notice the walker right in front of him. At least these people seemed to have some sort of sense about what was important; and that was just staying alive.

"Y'know, I was thinkin' some the other night," Merle suddenly said, bringing Daryl's attention back from scanning the edge of the woods. "Those pretty little blondes oughtta offer us some fun." Daryl chewed on the inside of his cheek, wishing for a pinch of a tobacco, as his eyes settled on the women in question. They were sisters, he knew. Both of them had sunny blond hair and cleaner complexions than what should've been normal for an apocalypse. Nearly every other day, the younger sister would drag the older one out of the little dingy in the quarry so they could go fishing. Daryl hated to think that they were better fishers than him, but he'd always been more of a hunter than a fisherman. "What're their names?"

"Andrea and Amy maybe."

"Nah, you're right. I remember 'em tellin' us their names. It was like pullin' teeth t' get the older one t' tell us 'er name."

_Well, no shit, what with the way you were leerin' at 'er._

Daryl didn't say anything though. Sure, they were pretty and it was probably growing harder and harder to find a good-looking girl, but that wasn't really what he was concerned about these days. He hadn't even really concerned himself with women before the amount of them had begun to dwindle right before their eyes. Sex was probably one of the farthest things from Daryl's mind, but of course it would be on Merle's. He'd had plenty of women before and liked to recall in excruciating detail the way they'd squirm and squeal under him. He liked the way it made Daryl uncomfortable, said it was teaching him to be a bigger man.

"_End of the world will get a girl hornier than anythin' else," _Merle had said weeks ago, after he'd fucked his first post-apocalyptic girl in the back of her jeep. They'd stolen her jugs of water after that. That had been the only reason they'd talked to her, but Merle had decided to get something else out of the deal as well.

"I'd get the older one, o'course," Merle told him, sounding almost serious. Andrea was not likely to be a willing participant with anything to do with Merle though. She'd already taken a pronounced disliking to him and seemed intent on keeping herself and her sister as far away from the Dixon brothers as possible. She had told both Shane and Dale that she didn't trust either of them, not that Daryl cared what she thought. He had shot back that he didn't trust her, though Merle had hushed him up quickly enough. Shit, he could be really charming when he wanted something whereas Daryl just never really gave a shit. "I'd let you have the little one though. She's prob'ly your type – all young and doe-eyed and weak. Bet she'd be limp as a sock though."

Daryl didn't even want to think about that. She may have acted chipper sometimes, but he could see the hollow look in her eyes, like she had nothing left going for her. As far as they knew, her parents were dead and all she had was her big sister. Well, all Daryl had was his big brother, too, but his parents had died years ago and it hadn't hurt him that much. Still, Andrea probably didn't have to worry so much about keeping her sweet little sister Amy away from Daryl, seeing as how Daryl did his best to stay away from her as well. Try as he might, he kept thinking about Amy just lying there underneath him, not even moving or fighting or saying anything, just that hollow look in her eyes and that flat look she wore on her face when she thought no one was looking.

"That older one, Andrea, man, she'd be a firecracker," Merle added in an almost wistful tone. He whistled lowly, his mind obviously preoccupied on what could possibly happen between him and the former lawyer. It was a long shot. The only time lawyers had paid Merle any attention was when he was paying them to keep him out of jail or they were trying to throw him back into one. Andrea wasn't likely to warm up to the idea of rolling around in a tent with Merle Dixon, no matter how persuasive or forceful he tried to be. She'd be more likely to kill him than anything or bring Shane into the matter, what with him being a cop and all, and things would get messy.

Daryl looked away from the two blondes and thought for the thousandth time that, no matter how much he loved his brother and blood was blood, he would be fucking pissed if Merle got high and got them tossed out of this (admittedly stupid) group because he tried to get laid.

"Jus' leave 'em be," Daryl muttered as he fiddled around with one of his arrows.

"I'm just lookin' out for our _needs_, baby brother," Merle said with a laugh. "Somebody's gotta. You ain't ever gonna get laid again if the only thing you sleep with is your bow."

_I need my bow to protect myself; I don't need this fuckin' group,_ Daryl thought sourly, but then he looked at them again. They were a sorry lot, but they'd managed to survive somehow and maybe that was saying something. Maybe they had something that was keeping them alive when other smarter, stronger, and braver people were getting eaten alive out there.

Standing up, Daryl moved to his tent and unzipped it. Merle was lucky that Daryl had thought to pack two; Merle was fucking lucky that Daryl had even thought to pack shit for him, in the off chance that they'd actually find each other. Sometimes, Merle was a lot luckier than he'd admit. Maybe Daryl was the one looking out for him. "I'm going to bed."

"Not gonna stay awake for some genuine kumbaya shit?"

Daryl glowered at Merle and then looked at the group, which had started to gather around the fire. They weren't going to sing kumbaya, but they seemed to think it important that they all got together as a group and talked or whatever. As if it was going to make them feel better about the fact that the world had gone to shit and practically everyone they knew was either dead or the living dead. "Fuck that shit. I gotta get up early t' hunt."

"Always the lone wolf," Merle said as he stood up as well. "No wonder it took you ages t' get some." He reached out and ruffled Daryl's hair, like he used to do all the time when Daryl was a kid and Merle was his punk ass older brother, back when their mama was alive to take the beatings that their father dealt. Daryl hated it when Merle treated him like that now, but he'd yearned for it when he was little and Merle was in and out of juvie. "You go to bed. I'm gonna work on gettin' me a slice of some blondie."

As Daryl lied in his tent that night, listening to the crackle of the fire and the low voices of the group, he couldn't help but think about Merle's words. He had always been more of a lone wolf, but now he was stuck with this group. He didn't think he'd ever feel like he was part of the group, part of the pack, and even Merle was on the outside because of his antagonistic nature that he just couldn't hide, but maybe that wasn't the way it worked anymore. You needed others to survive; and as much as Daryl was loathe to admit it, maybe, just maybe, he couldn't depend on just himself to stay alive, not like he'd done that one time when he'd been lost in the woods as a kid. Maybe he needed a pack and these people would have to do.


	2. Sophia

**Author's Notes:** I normally don't update this fast – and probably never will – but I just felt so inspired to write this. It's one of the main reasons I started this fic in the first place.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**When the Lone Wolf Dies  
**_chapter one: sophia_

For the most part, Daryl did his best to stay away from everyone in the group. Merle was starting to lose his ability to play nice, slowly but surely; and Daryl knew that it would only be a matter of time before a fight came about between his big brother and someone. More than likely, it was going to be between him and T-Dog or Shane, both of which would be nasty. Merle enjoyed nitpicking the hell out of T-Dog, though he'd somehow managed to not use names to his face, but it was Shane that Daryl thought would be more of a problem. It was easy to see that Shane was a hot head; even worse, he was an alpha and was more or less the leader of this group. Shane wouldn't try to settle things nicely. He'd more than likely settle it by trying to beat Merle's ass, which would be stupid, or throwing them out.

And as much as Daryl hated being in a group, he knew that they were better off for it.

Fucking walkers. The end of the world was upon them and half the population was probably dead and gone and Daryl was stuck being around more people than he'd been before everything went to shit.

And so Daryl kept his distance, whittling sticks into new arrows, wishing he'd packed more, poking at his little fire at night, sharpening his knives, literally anything he could do to keep away from everyone. The group seemed to appreciate his effort at leaving them alone and most of them left him alone in return. The only person that kept him any company was his brother. Sometimes, Shane came up to him, told him that he needed to "do something," but Daryl would usually get up and walk into the woods to go hunting. As far as he was concerned, bringing some game for them to eat was what he contributed to this group and it was a fucking lot more than they gave him credit for.

"Your name's Daryl, right?" a little voice said.

When Daryl looked up from sharpening a stick, he saw that little blonde girl standing before him. Her hands were clasped behind her back; and she seemed to waver on her feet, rocking back and forth on her heels, like she was about to fall over any second. And maybe she was. The girl was a tiny, little thing, smaller than her age most likely; and despite them not starving or anything just yet, she already looked like she was suffering from malnutrition, her clothes hanging on her loosely.

Daryl knew that look well enough to be able to recognize it on the spot. He'd seen it in his reflection every day as a kid.

Even with that look about her though, there was a smile on her face. She was so friendly, too friendly in his opinion. She shouldn't have been running off from her Mama and talking to strangers, as far as Daryl was concerned.

He shot her a little glare and looked back down at the stick and knife in his hands, only grunting in response.

That didn't seem to deter her in the slightest. She leaned forward precariously, looking at his hands and what he was working on. "Whatcha doing?"

Daryl looked at her once before looking back down again. He really wanted to leave her alone, but she didn't seem intent on doing the same for him. Maybe if he answered her questions short and quick, she'd lose interest in him and run off back to her mama or her new friend Carl. Most certainly she would not go running to her daddy. "Making an arrow," he gruffly told her.

"What for?"

"For my crossbow."

"Why? Don't you got arrows already? Good ones from the store?"

"Yeah, but I might run out."

She tilted her head. "Can't you just reuse them?"

"Well, yeah," Daryl shot back, looking up at her again. That was the best thing he liked about his crossbow. Not only was it quieter than any gun, but he could reuse his ammo – as long as he retrieved it. "But I ain't always gonna have time t' pull an arrow outta walker's head, so I gotta be prepared."

Sophia made a face filled with child-like disgust. "That's _gross_."

Daryl waved the stick at her. "Tha's the _truth_. Best get used t' it while you can."

"Do you always gotta shoot them in the heads?" she asked curiously. A child should not be so curious about death – it was morbid and shit – but then again, they were all surrounded by it. Maybe it was good for her to not be so afraid of it. Fear could lock a person up, make them freeze, and if you froze in this new world, chances were you were going to get used as a midnight snack.

"Always," he answered her. "Always shoot 'em in the head. That way they don't come crawlin' back."

Sophia chewed on her lip for a moment; and silence fell in between them once more. He turned his attention to the next stick, hoping that would be the end of her questions and she'd leave him alone. Why on earth was she bothering him anyways? It wasn't like he was the friendliest person in camp. Hell, he thought he'd made it clear that he wasn't friendly at all. He glanced down at his pile of sticks. He'd have to fletch them soon somehow. There weren't a lot of birds around here, but he knew that he'd be able to make do. A boy scout he was not – he was better than that.

"I saw…" She started and then stopped, chewing her lip again. Daryl knew that he shouldn't look up, should just keep on whittling the edge of the stick down, but he couldn't help but glance at her. She wasn't looking at him, her eyes wide and locked on the knife in his hand. "I saw a guy stab a walker. It just come up out of nowhere, from the side of the road; and there was a herd of them. The guy stabbed him, right in the heart, but the walker didn't die, just kept…just kept coming, just kept…chewing on the guy…and he was screaming so loud… I think I can still hear him screaming…"

Daryl felt a wave of…_something_ wash over him, something that felt a lot like pity or a _need_ to protect.

What the living fuck.

"You stop thinkin' 'bout stuff like that," Daryl snapped, not meanly, but not kindly either. Her eyes shot up to him, still wide; and he saw the panic and fear in them. She was a_fraid_ of him. Stupid – he shouldn't have snapped at her like that, but he didn't know how else to act. Shooting a look around the camp, seeing her father Ed stalking after her mother Carol, hearing him snarl at her for something she did wrong yet again (and she never did anything wrong), Daryl felt that something again. Sighing, feeling like the biggest pansy in the world and thanking whoever that Merle was off pissing in the woods, he waved her with the knife to come closer to him. She did, leaning in and listening carefully. "'S'long as I'm here, ain't nothin' like that gonna happen t' you. Hear me? All you gotta do is stay close t' the group; and no walker's gonna get you. I'll stick 'im in the head first."

"Promise?" Sophia whispered, her eyes filled with tears that looked far too hopeful for his taste. "Promise you'll always stick them in the head?"

Daryl snorted. "Ain't no other way I'd do it. I ain't wasting no arrow for a body shot."

When Sophia smiled nervously at him, he thought it was the first time she'd ever seen her smile. Certainly she had to smile while playing with Carl or when she was with her mother, but he'd never really paid the girl any mind. Now that he thought about it though, she always seemed to be hiding behind some sort of frown or fearful look. The world was changing around her, filled with danger in every corner, but her old world had been the same way, except it had been in her home. Anger struck Daryl quite quickly; and he nearly snapped a stick in half just thinking about it.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Ed came barreling into sight, stomping over towards Daryl's tent. That certainly didn't help his anger any. Daryl sat back up straight, gritting his teeth and telling himself to keep it cool. Meanwhile, Sophia froze in front of him, a look of terror on her face that made it look like she'd come across a pack of walkers on her own. "Get away from my little girl!"

_Keep yerself calm, _Daryl told himself, trying to think of the breathing techniques he learned to calm himself when he was hunting._ Don't blow a gasket like Merle._

Easier thought than done when it came to fucking Ed.

"She came over here t' talk t' me," Daryl said. "This is _my_ tent, after all. I'm allowed t' be here whenever I want."

When Ed reached them, he grabbed hold of Sophia's arm, to the point where Daryl knew it would bruise without a doubt, and jerked her back. The little girl let out a squeal in pain and tripped over a rock; she would've fallen down had Ed not been holding onto her so tightly. Carol came up behind them, a nervous look on her face. When she tried to gently take Sophia away, Ed just jerked the girl closer to him, making her yelp again.

"Ed, you're hurting her," Carol said quietly, as if afraid of actually being heard.

"Don't talk to my daughter," Ed warned coldly.

It was all Daryl could do to not laugh. Instead, he just looked up into the man's face, fingering the knife in his hand. "Or what? You gonna hurt me like you hurt your little girl and wife?"

"Shut up!" Ed snapped. He tossed Sophia almost absentmindedly into her mother's arms. The girl was sniffling, but she wasn't crying, despite clearly being afraid and her arm hurting. All she'd done was ask him questions. She didn't deserve to be treated like this. The world was ending and people were being eaten alive. Daryl didn't have time for fucking abuse to continue on when people were eating one another. "If I ever see you talking to my daughter again, you'll regret it."

Daryl stood up then. He wasn't as big as Ed, not like Merle was, but that didn't matter. He'd beaten the shit out of tougher and bigger men than Ed. In the end, Ed was nothing but a boy to him, some stupid boy that thought it was his right to lay his hands on his woman and child because they belonged to him. Well, Daryl wasn't anything to Ed and Ed wasn't anything to Daryl. He was made of tougher shit than Ed would ever be and the man could clearly tell. When Daryl stepped close, Ed took a staggering step back. It helped that he still had the knife clutched tightly in his hand.

"I'm tired of yer bullshit," Daryl growled, in a dangerously low voice. "Tired of wakin' up t' the sounds of you beatin' on your wife. Tired and fuckin' sick of the way you look at yer daughter – and don't you fuckin' say anythin' 'bout that." He lifted the knife up, putting it in Ed's personal space, way too close to the man's face, and the man backed away. Daryl took another step forward, unrelenting, his body brimming with fury. "You come up here yellin' at me like this again, if I see one fuckin' hair outta place on yer little girl's head, I'll shove this knife right through yer eye. Don't think I won't 'cause I _wanna_."

Before anything else could be said or done though, Shane was pushing them apart. Carol had hold of Ed, pleading him to come back to their tent; and Andrea was pulling back on Daryl. Shane was shouting, "Hey, hey, knock it off! Put the knife away, Daryl!" but Daryl was sick of Shane too. Whenever anyone tried to bring Ed's treatment of his family up, he'd just shake his head and say that it was none of their business. _None of my business, my ass! _Shane wasn't the one that had to wake up to Carol's soft crying or Sophia's whimpering or all that smacking around.

Daryl snapped, "Get off me!" and jerked out of Andrea's grip, turning to glare at her heatedly. She had her hands on her hips, glaring at him in return, but he didn't care. Everyone was looking at him like he was a wild animal out of control. What the fuck was taking Merle so long at pissing? If his brother had been here, he would've at least had back up. Instead, even though he was the one that had been doing the good thing and trying to protect some little girl he didn't even know or want to know, everyone was treating him like he was the bad guy. The only person that looked at him with any sort of thanks was Sophia; and she was being hidden behind her mother, peering at him from behind the woman.

No one spoke for a while until Andrea began, "Daryl…"

"Screw you all," Daryl interrupted coldly. "Take that fuckin' wife-beatin' asshole's side. Take Sergeant fuckin' Martin Riggs's bull-hockey." He pointed at Ed with his knife again, this time too far to do nothing but throw it at him. "Jus' know that if walkers come crawlin', I'm gonna direct it straight t' that motherfucker's face." He dropped his hand to his side and glowered at everyone, feeling restless and antsy, like he couldn't stand still. "Fuckin' hell, you all suck."

The last person he looked at was Sophia. He nodded his head to her – and she nodded back, almost imperceptibly – and then stormed off into the woods. Part of him hoped that there was a walker out there that he could find and beat the living shit out. He certainly wasn't going to be able to hunt while in this mood. Nothing would calm him down. He stayed out in the woods for the rest of the day, thinking about Sophia, thinking about Ed, thinking about he hated everyone, thinking about how this apocalypse had somehow managed to keep the dumbest people alive and probably killed off everyone smart and good. If his father had still been alive, no doubt that asshole would've survived.

When he came back later that night, Merle was at his tent, a stupid grin on his face, just ready to recount how absolutely hilarious he thought Daryl's outburst had been. "All over a little girl," he said, laughing louder than he should and making a few people look over at them. "If I didn't know you any better, little brother, I'd say you _cared_."

"Fuck you," was the only thing Daryl could grumble out.


	3. Jacqui

**Author's Notes:** I wish Jacqui had been in more than just one season. She seemed so interesting!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**When the Lone Wolf Dies  
**_Jacqui_

Two days after the incident with Ed, everything calmed down and went back to normal. Or whatever the hell "normal" was these days. All Daryl knew or cared about was that everyone seemed fully intent on ignoring him again, which he was fine by. He'd even kept his distance from Merle that first day since his big brother's face split into a grin every time he looked at Daryl or the Peletier family. Carol kept a close eye on Sophia after that, making sure that the girl rarely strayed a few feet from her. Daryl was fine by that too. He didn't care about her or them or anyone right now; he cared more about the traps he'd laid out in the woods.

With two squirrels and a rabbit slung over his shoulder, Daryl came back to the camp feeling victorious. Three little woodland creatures certainly wasn't enough to keep the whole camp fed, but most people still had food left over from when they'd run. It wouldn't last them much longer; Daryl noticed the way they kept on eating like it would, like they were just going to be able to pop into the store or go back home the minute they ran out.

Idiots didn't know shit. There was no store, no going home. This was it.

So bringing back some food made him feel better. He and Merle still had most of the food that Daryl had packed; they'd gone through any perishables pretty quickly, but unless Merle snuck a few snacks when Daryl wasn't looking, the rest of their food was untouched. There would come a time when they'd all be sick of squirrel and the like, so he wanted to make the other things last for as long as possible.

As he sat down and began skinning the animals, it didn't take long for him to notice that most people weren't at the main part of the camp. He could hear some laughter tinkling up from the quarry, first a woman's and then a man's; he even caught wind of Merle's rasping laugh. When he wanted to be good, Merle could play good; it was just that most of the time he didn't want to or didn't care to. Daryl, on the other hand, had little care for acting. He didn't like these people much, so he wasn't going to act like he did. What was the point? So they would like him more? It was the fucking apocalypse. Any sort of social need for popularity had vanished when those fighter jets had dropped bombs on a condemned city.

Daryl was busy skinning the rabbit in silence when a woman called out, "Hey, think you can give me a hand up here?"

Normally, Daryl would've kept on doing whatever he was doing and ignored the voice, seeing as how it most certainly wasn't for him, but since he knew that he was the only one sitting around the tents, he looked up anyways. There was that black woman, Jacqui, standing on top of Dale's RV and peering down at him, a hand shading her eyes.

Before Daryl could even think about pointing his knife at himself, questioning who she was calling, Jacqui waved a hand at him. "Yeah, you, Johnny on the spot, give me a hand, will you?"

"Whaddaya need?" Daryl asked first, before bothering to get up. Naturally he was suspicious. No one ever asked for his help, except for Merle, and even that was rare. Jacqui was actually the only one who had asked him to do anything really since they'd come to this camp. She'd noticed his hunting gear and had asked him about starting to hunt for the group in order to conserve food. Still, he couldn't imagine what she needed help with since she'd been down at the quarry having a good ole time like everybody else.

"Just come up here and keep watch for a minute or two," Jacqui replied, sounding frustrated and tired. "I've been sitting up here for around two hours without any sort of break. All I want is to get some water. You can go right back to making yourself a nice fur coat for winter after."

A flash of guilt streaked inside of Daryl's gut. He'd assumed that she'd just been lounging around when she'd actually been on watch duty. He hadn't seen her on top of the RV since she'd been sitting down in the chair. It appeared as if he wasn't the only one that wasn't out having fun. He nodded his head jerkily and stood up, setting his gear down on a tarp.

Once he clambered up to the top of the RV, Jacquie smiled in relief and wiped the sweat off of her face. "Thank you," she said before she climbed down the side of the RV with ease. She disappeared inside, leaving Daryl alone again.

For the most part, he preferred to be alone, but sometimes the silence was discomforting. He was used to the sounds that the woods made, but things were unnaturally quiet now that walkers had become top of the food chain. There weren't as many animals in the woods; they were either hiding, had run off, or had been eaten. Not to mention that even the faraway sound of cars had faded into near nonexistence. Planes were gone too. All in all, it left the world a very quiet place; and when you were alone with only your breath and heartbeat to make noise, it was a bit strange.

Daryl glanced around camp again before slowly edging himself into the fold up chair. It was a hell of a lot more comfortable than the one he had, fancier too, probably one of Dale's as well. He had a lot of nice camping gear, even though Daryl knew for a fact that the man didn't go camping. He'd probably bought this RV a while ago, thinking that he'd retire in it with his wife, and travel around the States.

Dale with a wife. That made Daryl pause. He'd never even asked the old man what his life had been like before the apocalypse. Had he been married? Had his wife been taken from him recently? He realized, quite suddenly, that he knew next to nothing about the people he was keeping camp with. For all he knew, one of them was a serial killer or an ax murderer.

(He bet his bottom dollar that if anyone was some sort of crazed lunatic, it was that damn cop.)

The RV jerked to the side slightly, letting him know in advance that someone was coming up. He didn't bother to look back; he knew it wasn't a walker from the way they walked and breathed. Besides, he'd been looking around the whole time. He would've noticed a walker straggling around the camp and killed it before it even knew that he was there too.

"Much better," Jacqui sighed, Daryl took a second to peer back at her, squinting in the sun, and saw the tired smile on her face. She said that she'd been up here for two hours; keeping watch for that long, no matter how languid it looked, would've exhausted anyone. "Why don't you go on down to the quarry and enjoy yourself with everyone? I've got everything covered up here, hon."

Almost immediately, Daryl felt an indignant flash at being called a pet name, but he squashed the feeling down and looked away from her, shrugging his shoulders. "Don't really care t' hang about with everyone," he muttered.

"Still sore about that fight a few days ago?" Jacqui asked.

He wasn't even going to answer that one; he just sat there, staring out in the woods and scanning the line for any walkers. Dealing with a walker would've been more pleasant than dealing with stupid questions like that.

"You shouldn't let it bother you so much; just let it roll off your shoulders," she told him, gently, like a mother would talk to a child. It aggravated him even further, but still he said nothing. "Getting yourself worked up over an asshole like Ed Peletier isn't going to make this any easier or better. If the walkers don't care, then you shouldn't either, even if he is a pathetic excuse of a human being."

Daryl snorted in response. At least someone else in the camp seemed to recognize the fact that the world would probably be a better place if someone just threw Ed into the walkers' mouths.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them just looking out into the woods. Truth be told, out of everyone in the camp, he liked Jacqui the best. Almost always she could be seen helping someone out, even if it was just with some kind words and a smile. He'd thought it was stupid at first, the way she helped everyone, but it was like she knew how to handle everyone. She was tough and short yet pleasant to Merle, manipulating him into his best state somehow, to the point where he never even called her names until an hour after they were done interacting. It was almost mesmerizing. She was also kind to Daryl, but kept her distance from him as well, only talking to him when she felt necessary. He liked that. Once he'd caught sight of her stopping Jim from bothering him. He liked that even more.

"How come yer not out with everyone?" Daryl finally asked, surprising both Jacqui and himself for speaking up.

Jacqui shrugged her shoulders. "Somebody had to keep watch; and I…" She gave him a somewhat embarrassed look. "I'm not one for swimming and splashing around in ponds." He gave her a quizzical look, but said nothing. Asking a question and deliberately starting a conversation once was enough to last him for a week with these people. "My grandparents lived on a farm, out in the sticks, and my brothers and I would go visit every summer. They had this really nice pond, real deep, filled to the brim with fish. I loved going on my grandfather's little boat. When I was five, we were out there, just fooling around on the boat, when my older brother pushed me off, thinking it would be funny." She shook her head. "The only problem was that I couldn't swim. After that…"

She didn't need to finish for him to know what had happened. If any of them survived this apocalypse and society went back to normal, Daryl was sure that more than a few people would become vegetarian's for the rest of their lives. He could still remember all the times in his childhood when someone had struck a match or lit up a lighter; and he'd flinched away without meaning to. It had taken him years to get over that, however embarrassing it was.

"That how you knew about huntin'?" Daryl piped up.

Jacqui looked at him sideways, giving him a sly smile. "Look at you, Mr. Talkative. I don't think I've heard you talk so much this entire time you and your brother have been out here unless you're arguing with someone." Daryl shot her a glare, his mouth shut tight, but she ignored the glare and continued, "It is how I knew though. I went hunting with my grandfather and brothers – that way they wouldn't tease me for being scared – but I hated it. I've always been a city girl at heart. My brother though, he loved it. He had a bow just like yours, though he isn't – wasn't as skilled as you."

It was quick, just a tiny slip, but it was enough for Daryl to catch it. He saw her smile falter, as if it blinked, and she gulped.

Daryl may not have had the best social skills in the world, but even he knew not to bring up her slip of the tongue. He knew what it all meant.

Instead, he shrugged his shoulders. "Been huntin' my whole life, fer as long as I can remember. S'like I was born with the skill in me. Merle's good at huntin', but he's shit fer trackin'. He's a good shot, but he's too loud and not patient enough."

"Oh, Lord," Jacqui said with a quick laugh, "I can just see him sitting in a tree, getting more pissed by the minute."

"Usually with a bottle of Jim Bean," Daryl added. "One time, he got so drunk while waitin' up there – and shit he complained the entire time – but he got so drunk that he fell right outta the tree."

At that, Jacqui laughed, rich and clear. He hadn't heard anyone laugh with such abandon for a very long time, certainly before the apocalypse made laughing almost nearly as extinct as dinosaurs. It had even been longer since he'd made someone actually laugh. He couldn't even remember a time when he'd just sat around joking with someone, but it felt… It felt _good_. He hadn't felt something like this in years. Merle laughed a lot, but there was always some sort of mocking tint to it, some sneaky smile hiding behind it. However, Jacqui wasn't mocking him; she was genuinely amused.

A hint of a smile ghosted Daryl's lips.

"Hey, baby brother, you gonna finish cookin' our dinner or are you gonna keep fuckin' around up there with yer new girl?"

The moment Merle's voice carried up to them, the smile vanished and was replaced by a hard look on Daryl's face. Jacqui immediately went quiet, the laughter and smile leaving her as well, but he saw the faded shadow of it on her face. When she looked at him, he saw something in her eyes, like a secret; and he knew that she wouldn't tell anyone about their conversation. As far as everyone else was concerned, he was still that hillbilly asshole that couldn't keep his anger in check.

Daryl nodded his head at her, stood up, and stretched his muscles. When he looked to his left, he saw Merle standing at their tents, picking at the rabbit that Daryl hadn't yet finished cleaning. He climbed down the trailer and shooed his brother away from his work, ignoring Merle as he snickered about what a good housewife "Darlena" would've made had the walkers not come a'walking.

That night, while everyone was scraping baked beans out of their cans and Merle was off playing poker with Ed, Daryl discreetly passed a few pieces of rabbit that he'd saved from his and Merle's dinner. "S'not much…" he muttered.

Jacqui just smiled at him though. "Baby, I ain't ever had a man cook dinner for me. This is all I need."


End file.
